A few weeks ago my youngest daughter came home for a quick visit on her way to a wedding and a football game.
At 27, she has long outgrown her terrible teen years, although she still has a bit of an edge. That’s just Laura.
When she was 14 or 15 she was into a grunge stage, very Kurt Cobain-Pearl Jam-Stone Temple Pilots. She’d wear pants big enough to fit two sumo wrestlers and heavy, bump-toe combat boots — to church. Hey, I was just glad she came to church back then and I wasn’t about to quibble over what she wore.
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